


A Flash of Teeth

by greengoateegal



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Biting, Bloodplay, Kissing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-03
Updated: 2013-02-03
Packaged: 2017-11-28 03:00:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/669514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greengoateegal/pseuds/greengoateegal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Though guilt is eating him up inside, Monsieur Madeleine finds that he cannot help but want to mark Javert as if, in some way, he can claim the man as his.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Flash of Teeth

**Author's Note:**

> Based off of this prompt in the Les Mis kinkmeme: http://makinghugospin.livejournal.com/9761.html?thread=430625#t430625
> 
> The request involved biting and embarrassing moans, and I hope I provided enough of both! This is my first time writing for this fandom, though I have read uh...a lot. I hope this doesn't sound too ridiculous!
> 
> Consider Javert and Monsieur Madeleine to already have a bit of a relationship, though one that isn't wholly physical yet.

"I must be on my way, Monsieur le Maire. If there is anything you need—"

"Ahh, Inspector, hold on for just another moment."

The factory is still quiet in the wee hours of the morning. Not even the foreman has shown up yet; indeed, any sane person would still be tucked away in bed. But Javert, clearly not of a sane state of mind, appears in Valjean's office every day before the crack of dawn, clothes impeccable, beard trimmed, and — if not bright-eyed — clearly alert enough to give his report on the previous night's activities. What would happen if Javert were to sleep through sunrise? Perhaps, Valjean surmises, he would consider it an immoral breach of character to rest late when there are criminals to catch. 

_Crime,_ he imagines Javert's voice echoing in his thoughts, _never sleeps, Monsieur le Maire._

Valjean arranges the stack of papers on his desk until every edge lines up perfectly. He draws out the action long enough that the man standing across from him begins to fidget in the slightest of ways. Anyone who did not know him as long as Valjean had would never have noticed (Javert has, quite frankly, an enticing quirk that involves worrying at his bottom lip) and Valjean feels a smile tugging at his mouth as he moves to stand. 

Instantly, Javert's posture, which had momentarily loosened, snaps straight as a rod. His gaze finds some spot over Valjean's shoulders and freezes there even as Valjean slides around his desk and stops next to him.

"Has anyone said anything yet?" Valjean breathes the question as he bends at the waist, leaning down to brush his lips over Javert's beard-covered jaw. 

Sometimes he feels guilty for tormenting Javert so, but it is difficult to stop when it makes the tips of the stern inspector's ears glow pleasantly red. 

"There have been...whispers." 

"What sorts of whispers?" Valjean asks. He trails kisses over Javert's rapidly-flushing cheeks until he reaches one corner of his lips. Javert's eyebrows furrow; he is clearly pained by whatever rumors have been haunting him. "You mustn't keep me in the dark, Inspector. A mayor must know the comings and goings of his city."

Javert's teeth sink into the soft flesh of his lip again and Valjean follows the motion with his tongue, licking at the hurt until Javert lets go with a half-stifled moan. They share breath for a moment, then Valjean kisses him full on the mouth, taking advantage of the inspector's startled gasp to swipe at the backs of his teeth. 

When he pulls away, Javert is still not looking at him, but his lips shine wet in the dim morning light. 

Birdcalls mark the beat of silence between them.

"My colleagues believe me to be courting a wildcat," Javert says it with the perfect composure of one who has rehearsed a line time and time again. "I have said nothing to dispel such gossip, as I confess that I find myself agreeing with it."

Valjean does not bother to muffle the laughter that bubbles in his chest. Far from taking offense, Javert seems to find amusement as well: his unyielding expression melts into an ever so tiny smile, and his eyes dart up to finally meet Valjean's own. Valjean's heart warms.

"A wildcat, am I? What does that make you, I wonder?" he asks. He cups Javert's face between his palms and trails his thumbs through the inspector's whiskers, tenderly tracing over the lines his smile leaves in his skin. There is no end to his awe at this small thing, that a man like Javert is capable of softness, that the rigid line of his brow can smooth over if Valjean ghosts a caress behind his ear, that he can smile at Valjean like there is nothing but kindness between them.

Then the solid weight of guilt settles in the pit of Valjean's belly like a long-lost friend, like a ball and chain anchoring him back to reality. He tries to swallow it away before Javert can see — before Javert can guess the secret he holds — but his old foe is as observant as ever.

A frown replaces Javert's smile. Valjean mourns the loss. "Is something troubling you, Monsieur Madelei—"

Valjean's answer is another kiss, harder than the last. Their teeth clack together like inexperienced children, but he fears to stop; he fears to continue. He abandons the kiss, a man possessed, and draws Javert's lower lip into his mouth, sucking hard to pull color to the surface. Javert's stuttered moan pounds another bruise into Valjean's heart. He retaliates by biting down and splitting the inspector's skin. 

The tang of blood fills his mouth and he sinks in another bite when Javert whimpers. The sound is a hoarse one, dragged from Javert's throat as if by force. It is shameful, Valjean knows, to desire to mark this man in this way when he, by all rights, is not his, and can never fully be his. There are too many secrets and scars between them, too many sleepless nights and too few truths. By all accounts, they should naturally repel one another, yet they always seem to become tangled together like puppets on twisted strings. 

Javert's hands have caught Valjean's waist in two handfuls. It is unclear by his grip if the inspector wants to push him away or drag him closer. He seems to settle for holding him there, as if waiting for Valjean to decide when to release him. 

When Valjean does let go, it is with a roiling stomach and a tongue coated in blood, which he finds himself swallowing rather than spitting. He cannot look at Javert and so he moves a step back, retreating from the inspector's grasp to let them both catch their breaths. 

There is no birdcall to fill their silence this time.

Javert finally breaks their stalemate, saying, "I suppose it makes me the victim of assault."

At that, Valjean, startled, locks eyes with the other man, only to see his smile has returned, though it is growing instead into an impish smirk. Javert's lips are puffy, red, clearly bruised, and looking thoroughly kissed, but there is a blush to his cheeks and the ice in his eyes has melted away, leaving behind bright blue that soothes the ache in Valjean's chest.

"I will never hear the end of this. They will think I cannot handle my beast." 

The middle of Javert's lower lip is torn and leaking. Valjean slips the pad of his thumb across a bead of blood that wells up like a ripe berry. It smears a red line on his skin, and Javert's tongue darts out and washes it away before Valjean can pull back. 

Valjean is not surprised to find himself hard, but has enough common decency to be ashamed of it, amongst other things.

"Is that so bad? Perhaps I want them to see. Mark the most feared inspector for myself."

Javert lifts one hand and prods at his wound with careful fingers. Instead of diminishing, his blush seems to burn ever redder. "You have done that and more, Monsieur le Maire. I should arrest you for assaulting an officer of the law, but I fear that, again, I must be on my way. You will make me late one day, keeping me here like this."

He says it not as an admonishment, but with a fond edge, as if hoping Valjean will, someday, keep him late from his duties. Javert dismisses himself with a nod of his head and a quirk of his lips, and when he turns and walks away, his gait is stiffer than usual, too controlled, yet uneven to Valjean's well-trained eye. 

It is only once the office door swings shut that Valjean sinks back against his desk, clutching at it white-knuckled like a lifeline, and wonders at how thoroughly he has damned himself as well as Javert.


End file.
